Edited by: Sanvi Rawat
“To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.” – David Viscott
Every now and then, especially in the early mornings, when the air still holds onto the quiet of the night, I find myself watching. Not anything specific—just the world unfolding. A newspaper being flung onto a doorstep, a tea stall opening, someone wiping their shopfront. It’s strange how much softness exists if you slow down enough to see it. Like today: a boy held his grandfather’s hand while crossing the road, gently squeezing it each time they stepped off a curb. No one noticed. Cars passed, bikes swerved, lives rushed by. But for a few seconds, the world paused in the clasp of those hands. And I couldn’t help but think—this too is love. Maybe not the kind that shows up on Instagram stories in February, but the kind that sticks around. The kind that holds.
“The best portion of a good man’s life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.” – William Wordsworth
We’re so used to associating love with romance—roses, proposal videos, songs with dramatic high notes. But I think it’s everywhere– in the lady who makes an extra roti every morning because the building’s guard forgets to pack his lunch. In the way your roommate plugs in your charger without asking when your phone is dying. In the little kid who, mid-monsoon, placed his only umbrella over a stray dog, choosing to get wet himself. It wasn’t a one-time storybook moment; it felt like something he’d do again tomorrow, too. That’s the thing—some forms of love don’t announce themselves. They just show up, quietly, like rain on window panes. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just enough.
“Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” – Simone Weil
There’s a chaiwala near our college who always keeps one extra chair outside his stall. He doesn’t have a sign that says “Reserved” or anything like that. He just leaves it empty. I once asked him about it, and he said, “Kisi ko kabhi kabhi sirf baithna hota hai” (Sometimes someone just needs a place to sit). That chair, in a way, became the quietest form of love I’ve ever seen. He wasn’t expecting money or thanks. It was just his way of caring. I’ve seen students who look like they’ve cried between classes, people with heavy bags and heavier thoughts, just sit there for a few minutes and breathe. I think the chair listens.
“Love doesn’t just sit there, like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new.” – Ursula K. Le Guin
There’s an old couple that walks in the garden in the evening. They don’t hold hands, but they walk as if tethered by a lifetime of rhythm. One day, her dupatta kept slipping off, and every few steps, he adjusted it for her. She didn’t say thank you. He didn’t smile. It was just a habit. Like brushing your teeth, or locking the door behind you. But isn’t that what love becomes after years? A series of habits that say “I see you, even now.” Maybe love doesn’t always have to be declared. Sometimes, it just has to be remembered.
“Sometimes we let the one we love walk away, simply because we are too scared to say the things we need to say.” – Mitch Albom
I’ve noticed that some of the truest moments of love come from people who barely say the word at all. Teachers who stay back after class because they know you’re too scared to ask questions in front of everyone. Friends who remember the exact way you like your chai. Siblings who act indifferent but leave the last bite of cake for you. It’s like love is hiding in these tiny patterns of remembering—how you like your food, what song calms you down, when your voice changes slightly because something’s off. Maybe it’s not about saying “I love you” all the time, but about asking, “Did you eat?” and meaning every ounce of care in it.
“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing.” – E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
And then there’s friendship. Oh, the love in friendships. The 2 a.m. calls, the bad jokes that somehow land perfectly, the “text me when you get home”. The kind of love that doesn’t expect a grand gesture, but always knows when to send a meme just to check if you’re okay. There’s love in sending class notes, in waiting outside a washroom because your friend gets anxious in crowds, in sitting together in silence after a long day. That kind of love doesn’t get a month. It deserves all twelve.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.” – Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
We’ve been told that love is supposed to be loud. That it should make your heart race and your skin tingle. But what about the kind of love that makes you feel safe? That lets you sleep better at night? That shows up when you’re at your worst? That sits beside you when you have nothing to say? Maybe that’s the love we forget to celebrate because it doesn’t come wrapped in sparkly paper.
“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” – The Beatles
February gets all the attention. And it’s sweet—who doesn’t love a good chocolate or handwritten card? But if you really start noticing, love is sprinkled all over the year. In March, when your friend walks you back to your hostel without you asking. In June, when your dad sends you mangoes with a note that just says, “Too much Delhi heat.” In October, when your mom calls not to ask about your grades, but to ask if you’re happy. Love isn’t reserved for one month. It’s living, breathing, and happening right now. Right in front of you.
So maybe, as we fold up another Valentine’s month and return to “normal” life, we could carry forward this lens—this way of noticing. Because the truth is, love doesn’t just belong to February. It belongs to every ordinary Tuesday, every shared plate of Maggi, every time someone waits a few seconds longer just so you don’t walk into a room alone.
Isn’t every month, in its own quiet way, a Valentine?